Lightning crackled as Momonga's face took shape out of searing plasma. The neatly trimmed mustache on his upper lip only sharpened his austere, rigid air.
With one hand, he held a brand-new mechanical arm. With the other, he saluted Zephyr in crisp respect.
"Zephyr-sensei."
As soon as he appeared, the thunder that had been gnawing at the sky vanished, leaving the heavens clean and bright again.
"So it's that electric rat," Tokikake muttered under his breath as he scrambled to his feet, brushing off his backside and straightening his clothes. "Damn it—scared the hell out of me!"
Beside him, Yamakaji crossed his arms, his smirk half amused.
"I just slipped," Tokikake shot back, deadpan and unashamed.
In sharp contrast to their banter, the younger officers—fresh from Marine Academy training—were completely stunned.
"It's him!"
"The vice commander of the North Blue Fleet!"
"The man who led the flying fleet and shelled the Holy Land, Mary Geoise!"
"That presence… and that speed… that has to be the Rumble-Rumble Fruit, right? The Logia said to be the strongest!"
"He really is the madman who dared to fire on the Holy Land…"
Their eyes went wide as they leaned forward, trying to get a better look at him.
Unlike Tokikake and Yamakaji, who'd traded blows with Momonga more times than they cared to admit, the younger ones saw him as a living legend.
They'd heard of Darren, of course—but they'd never once met the North Blue Fleet's commander face-to-face. That only made their curiosity burn hotter.
Because what Momonga had done was the kind of thing that shook the sea itself—something no one else had ever dared, except Instructor Darren.
"What brings you here, kid?" Zephyr asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he took in Momonga's arrival. "The North Blue Fleet should be drowning in work."
Hearing the whispers around him, Momonga couldn't help an inward chuckle.
Now he understood why Darren kept showing up at the Academy even after graduation. Standing under the worshipful gaze of "junior classmates" was… addicting.
But with Zephyr in front of him, Momonga kept the composure expected of the fleet's second-in-command. He offered a restrained smile and shook his head.
"The duties aren't especially heavy," he said evenly, "but the work demands constant vigilance and meticulous attention to detail."
Zephyr studied him for a moment, then sighed with genuine admiration. "Now I understand why that brat Darren never wanted to let you go, no matter how many times I asked for you."
"A man who can keep an entire fleet running that smoothly by himself… Darren's eye for talent is sharper than mine."
He understood what Momonga really meant.
"Constant vigilance and meticulous attention" meant the North Blue Fleet had reached a mature scale. With limited resources and influence, it couldn't realistically expand much further in the short term.
More importantly, its current size suited its purpose perfectly: mutual deterrence against the World Government.
When both sides held weapons of mass destruction and could press the red button at any moment, the number of weapons stopped mattering.
The real battle took place off the battlefield. The true deterrence lay in the unknown.
To preserve that mystery—the threat of air strikes that could appear anywhere, anytime—Momonga, as the fleet's frontline commander, had to keep its movements airtight.
Every moment demanded vigilance. Every order had to be enforced. There was no room for complacency, no tolerance for error. The mental pressure alone would crush an ordinary man.
"If Darren heard you say that," Momonga chuckled, "he'd be bragging for days."
Then his smile softened, and something complicated flickered behind his eyes. "Still… not becoming your student in the end remains one of the greatest regrets of my life."
Zephyr laughed, loud and warm, and clapped him on the shoulder.
"I'm not Chief Instructor anymore," he said, "but that brat Darren is still my student—and he's practically your teacher. So in a way, you're my student too." He winked. "Besides, haven't you always called me Zephyr-sensei?"
Momonga's expression brightened, unguarded for a rare moment.
"Thank you, Zephyr-sensei!"
Zephyr's chuckle faded into a steady look. "So. What brings you here this time, kid?"
Momonga immediately lifted the mechanical arm and said gravely, "Zephyr-sensei, this arm was made for you."
The moment it came into view, Tokikake and the others' eyes snapped toward it.
"So cool—"
"A mechanical arm!"
"That's insane!"
"I'm almost tempted to chop off my own arm!"
The arm was matte black, swallowing light. The shoulder joint exposed thick pressure pumps and heavy springs. The massive hand had sharply defined knuckles, radiating a cold metallic ferocity—brutal, violent, and strangely beautiful.
"A mechanical arm…" Zephyr murmured, his gaze locking onto it, unwilling to look away.
"Yes," Momonga said with a nod, smiling. "It's built on Germa 66 weapons tech. It has a self-targeting laser cannon system and a rapid-fire gun loaded with Seastone bullets. The fingertips are inlaid with high-purity Seastone too—lethal to most Devil Fruit users."
"And it has its own independent power system. Each strike can deliver tremendous impact—enough to amplify your output to something on par with a Giant's raw strength…"
As Momonga continued, Tokikake and the others stared harder, eyes widening to the brink of drooling.
If this arm truly matched what Momonga was describing, Zephyr-sensei's combat power would surge into something monstrous.
"A bane to Devil Fruit users. Versatile enough to slot into any tactic, cover ranged weaknesses, and amplify close-quarters destruction—that's the core design philosophy." Momonga's voice sharpened with pride. "That's why it's called the Crusher."
Zephyr's eyes flared instantly.
"Crusher… an arm that pulverizes all evil into oblivion!"
To be continued...